Amapola
**Six months later**
Six months have passed since I left Salvatore. A lot has changed since then, except for what I feel for him and this strange habit I have of continuing to come here, where everything between us truly began.
When I left his house, I didn’t know what I would do from that moment on; the last year had been intense and completely filled by his presence in my life. It felt like there was a divide between before and after Salvatore.
I went to my father’s house; I had already spent the night there, comforting myself with someone who had always been by my side. Contrary to what I thought, I didn’t hear him say phrases like “I told you so,” “I knew it would end badly,” or “you brought this on yourself.” Instead, he advised me to wait for the dust to settle and then reach out to him. My father wasn’t a good advisor because, like me, he had seen a new side of Salvatore, and I could even say he liked him.
The next day, his brothers sought me out. Initially, I thought they would ask me to return, but no; they were understanding and made it clear they would always be there for whatever I needed.
I was grateful because they had also become my family, and separating from Salvatore didn’t mean I wanted to distance myself from them too—not at all.
For fifteen days, I considered everything we lived through and what I had endured. It wasn’t just bad moments; far from it, I gained much more than I lost. Salvatore brought me a new perspective on life, new hopes and goals, and I was thankful for that.
Many times, I stared at my phone, contemplating calling him. I knew I had been harsh; if I hadn’t, he would have tried to convince me to stay, and it’s likely I would have actually stayed. But nothing that started as we did could end well.
The words I said to him hurt me too much, and I repeatedly chewed over the guilt of having uttered them intending to push away the man I loved.
Not only did that scene flash in my mind, but also what I witnessed in the office—seeing Carlota kneeling between his legs had been the end for me, and that’s why I decided to leave.
How many other Carlotas would appear? How many other mafia daughters would be willing to do anything to separate us? Deep down, I always sensed the disapproving looks from the capos directed at me; they believed I wasn’t worthy of the boss, and maybe I really wasn’t.
The Italian mafia is built on customs that have lasted for years. How could I imagine that he would give up his obligations to be with me? Salvatore was the heart of the mafia, and I would always be his secret. Thinking this way, I understood that I truly wasn’t willing to go through that.
Seeing Carlota and her entire family die didn’t fill me with remorse, pity, or anything of the sort. I had been around them for so long that I had also hardened and perhaps lost a bit of my essence. But after much thought, I realized that they all knew the risks of their actions and were definitely willing to pay the price.
Attacking the boss directly was like signing your own death warrant; they knew that even better than I did. They gambled and suffered the consequences. I blamed myself for not feeling guilt, but I considered that perhaps a part of me had also become mafia. After all, it’s impossible to enter this world and come out unscathed.
After fifteen days, I understood that if I stayed in Rome, I would inevitably seek him out again. So, I decided to move to another city. I didn’t know many places, but Palermo brought me good memories, and it was in search of tranquility and peace that I decided to relocate here.
I informed Rico and Fabrizio. I had managed to save some good money since Salvatore didn’t let me spend on anything, and that would be enough to settle in and support myself and my father until I found a new job.
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